


Scrapes and Bruises

by konfusion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/F, F/M, Hospitalization, Hurt Isaac, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Isaac is a Waiter, Isaac-centric, M/M, Military, One Shot, Past Child Abuse, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konfusion/pseuds/konfusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac Lahey is eight years old when his life goes to shit.</p><p>Isaac is eleven years old and he’s getting good at covering up the marks his dad leaves.</p><p>When he’s almost seventeen, his dad beats him up so bad he considers going to the emergency room.</p><p>He’s eighteen when he tries to kill himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrapes and Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't happy with how Isaac Lahey's character was presented in the actual show, so I re-wrote it, whoops!
> 
> I'm very aware this is similar to my other work on here but hey, what can I say? I'm decent at writing angst and that's about it.
> 
> Trigger warnings for content such as graphic self harm, suicidal idealization and suicide attempt, as well as heavy mentions of child abuse.  
> Heads up that not everything will be accurate as I am not an expert in all of these areas, but I tried my best to make as much sense as possible! If you spot any mistakes or anything that can be improved/rewritten, please let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from yet another Marianas Trench song, this time it's the opening lines of Alibis. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr if you wanted to talk;  
> www.mermaidtrench.tumblr.com

 

Isaac is eight years old when his life goes to shit.

His parents’ divorce in the December of his seventh year was pretty much inevitable, because they were doing more arguing than actually living nicely together. They fight whilst Isaac watches over bowls of cereal and half completed maths worksheets, but it’s okay, because his older brother, Camden, always fills in the answers for him, so long as he bribes him with chocolate.

The divorce gets filed and Isaac watches from the porch as his mother drives away from his life for good. His brother wraps an arm around his shoulder but he knocks it off dejectedly. He heads up to his room and reads the notes his mother left him, words like I’m sorry and I love you and be good sticking in his mind for the next eleven years.

He’s eight years old when his father starts drinking.

Of course, Mr Lahey drank before, but this was half a bottle of scotch a night and Isaac cowered under his _Toy Story_ sheets as he heard his father’s stumbling footsteps clumsily climbing the stairs. Isaac clutches his plush stuffed elephant and tries to block out the swearing.

 

 

He’s eight and a half when he accidentally crosses his father when he’s drunk. It’s all a case of bad timing to be honest, because Isaac’s supposed to be asleep, but he can’t sleep because all he can think is that he misses his mother. He goes downstairs, a part of him hoping she’ll be standing in the kitchen like nothing happened. The only thing that’s in the kitchen is his father drinking straight from a bottle of Jack, and piercing eyes meet Isaac’s.

“What do you want, kid?” Mr Lahey says, lowering the bottle and placing it on the counter.

“I miss mommy.” He says, his voice wavering.

Mr Lahey’s expression changes, his face morphing into something dark and Isaac knows something’s wrong. His mother never looked at him like that and he’s already scared enough as it is.

“Well, tough shit, Isaac. She’s not coming back.” Mr Lahey doesn’t even care that he’s swearing in front of an eight year old.

“But-”

“ _Isaac_.” His dad persists, raising his voice suddenly. He advances to where Isaac stands in the doorway. Isaac begins to shake. “She isn’t coming back. The bitch up and left, and now I’m stuck here with you and your brother.”

Mr Lahey pushes Isaac roughly in the chest, sending the child reeling, bashing his head of curls into the banister. Isaac’s now straight up terrified.

“Dad-” He begins. He’s trying to apologise but he doesn’t even get one syllable out before his dad slaps him across the face. Mr Lahey’s own face is red with anger.

“Shut the fuck up and go back to bed, you insolent little shit!”

Isaac scurries up the stairs and to his room. He cries into the duvet and cowers when hears the door open. It’s Camden, and Isaac breathes a sigh of relief.

“What happened, Isaac?” His brother asks, sitting on the bed and brushing Isaac’s curls away from his face.

“I miss mommy.” Isaac says softly, running his thumb over the soft ear of his plush elephant.

“Did you ask dad about her?”

“Yeah.” Isaac sniffles. “He pushed me and hit me and I hit my head on the stairs.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, not really.”

Camden’s face is stony but he pulls Isaac into a hug and Isaac cries into his shirt. They stay like that for a while, and when Isaac lets go, Camden tucks him into bed.

“It’s okay, Isaac. Don’t tell anyone about it. They’ll get dad into trouble. I’ll handle it.”

Isaac nods and watches his brother leave. He hears them argue for a while, and then the shouting dies down, and he hears footsteps come up the stairs. He drifts off to sleep and wakes up with a cracking headache. Camden drives him to school before his dad sees them leave and tells him to be safe, handing over a few dollars for lunch.

That’s the first time it happens. Mr Lahey apologises when he’s sober, picking Isaac up from school and taking him out for ice cream. It feels like everything’s okay. Isaac gets it now; his dad didn’t mean it, he wasn’t thinking straight.

He believes it until it happens again. He goes to school with a black eye and tells everyone he got into a fist fight with the high school kids to make him seem cooler.

 

 

Isaac is eleven years old and he’s getting good at covering up the marks his dad leaves. He went to the drugstore and bought makeup, remembering the stuff from his mother’s vanity. He kept his head low at the checkout and didn’t say anything as he handed the money over. He applies the makeup to the black eyes and finger-shaped bruises. He must be good at it, because nobody asks about them.

His dad has now progressed another step in this thing. He’s found the old freezer in the basement. When Isaac’s bad because he got a bad grade on the homework or didn’t do the dishes or forgot to take the laundry out of the machine, Isaac’s dad drags him down to the basement, throws him in the overturned freezer, and leaves him locked in it for what feels like days. He’s trying to understand why it’s just him, never Camden. He must have done something wrong, something awful to deserve it, he concludes. He doesn’t tell his brother about the freezer.

There’s some nights when Mr Lahey forgets to get Isaac out and he’s locked in overnight and has to sleep in the dark, claustrophobic box and ends up shaking and unable to speak for a few days after.

 

 

Isaac’s fourteen when he gets the news. He’s been out riding his bike with some friends from school and he comes home later than usual. His dad is at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Isaac stops and slows when he sees his father.

Mr Lahey looks up at the teenager, the spitting image of his ex-wife, and grimaces.

“Your mother is dead.” He says bluntly. “Her sister called just now.”

Isaac feels like throwing up. He didn’t know his mother for very long but she was still his mother and all the memories he has of her are _good_ ; like the time it was raining and they curled up on the sofa and watched all of the Disney movies they had. Or the time she took him to the zoo and they saw the elephants and Isaac cried when they had to leave, but she bought him the stuffed elephant and he stopped crying, or the time when she taught him how to sew and to bake and to ride a bike. They were all happy memories.

There was even some hope in him that he could leave this place and find her, and they would live out a happy life, and he wouldn’t have to get beaten up and locked in a freezer.

He doesn’t cry because he can’t.

He goes upstairs and sits in silence until his brother gets home from work. Camden comes in and sits next to Isaac, and they sit in silence together until the morning.

 

 

When Isaac is fifteen, his brother leaves for the military. Isaac watches him leave from the porch and he can’t stand it, can’t watch his brother leave like how his mother left when he was eight. He runs after Camden to the car, throwing arms around him and sobbing.

“Please don’t leave me, Cam, not here, not with him, _please_.” He begs, hysterical tears falling from his face and onto Camden’s freshly pressed uniform.

“Isaac, Isaac. I have to do this.” Camden says. His voice sounds broken. “You’ll be fine, I promise. It’ll be okay.” He brushes a hand over Isaac’s curls, and Isaac clings on tighter.

“You have to come back, you have to visit, Cam, please don’t leave me.”

  
“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, Isaac. I’ll call _all_ the time and I’ll be back for Christmas and Thanksgiving and everything.”

Eventually after another ten minutes of sobbing from both parties, his dad comes outside and pries Isaac off of Camden, and the elder brother leaves in his car, and the younger brother stands with his father gripping tight onto the back of the collar of his shirt.

 

 

It’s Isaac’s sixteenth birthday when there’s a knock on the door. A woman in uniform takes off her hat, and tells them that Camden has been killed in action. Isaac feels his heart drop to the floor and he takes the dog tags out of the woman’s hand. She asks if he is Isaac, and when he nods, she hands him an envelope. He scurries off to his room with the envelope and tags and cries for two days straight. It’s the first time his dad has left him alone in days. When he opens the envelope, it’s a birthday card from Camden. It reads _“Happy birthday little brother. There’s not a day that goes past that I don’t miss you. Hope you’re doing okay in school, keep those grades up. Hopefully we can come back soon. I already hate that I’m missing your birthday. Miss you and love you! From your favourite older brother”_. Isaac wells up and shoves the card under his pillow. He doesn’t leave his room for a week and when he does he goes straight to school, ignoring his father and pedalling fast on his bike.

There’s a memorial a week later. The man who’s speaking chats a load of shit about how Mr Lahey was always supportive and a good father to Camden. Isaac balls his fists and grits his teeth and he walks away as soon as he can.

To prove the point, almost, Isaac’s father locks him in the freezer for his insolence and doesn’t let him out for two days. Those two days are hell. He wishes he was dead instead of Camden. Camden was smart and athletic and charming and everything Isaac isn’t. He furiously scratches at his arms and neck and tries to make it hurt as much as possible. He kicks the bottom of the freezer until his legs are numb and he stays angry the whole time he’s there. Isaac can barely walk when he’s let out. He clambers out of there and immediately out of the front door, rushing out and going to some diner for a while. The waitress seems to pity him, maybe she sees the scratches left on his arms, or maybe it’s his expression, as she gives him refills on his coffee without charging him. He smiles up at her.

“Hey, you guys don’t happen to have any jobs going, do you?” He asks, as politely as he can manage.

“Yeah, actually. We’re looking for a busboy at the moment. You interested?”

“Where can I apply?”

She looks to the kitchen door, and then back to Isaac. “Actually, my manager’s here at the moment. I’ll go grab him.”

The manager – who Isaac soon learns is called David – returns and Isaac shakes his hand. After ten minutes of talking and exchanging emails and Isaac giving some information, he’s somehow got a job in a diner at eleven in the evening. His first shift starts tomorrow directly after lacrosse practice. It’s minimum wage, a little bit sketchy, and it’s cash-in-hand, but that’s more than nothing, and that’s one step closer to getting out of the house for good.

 

He works practically non-stop. When he’s not at school, he’s at work. His hands are red raw all the time from the amount of dishes he washes. He learns the names of the regulars and smiles as he takes their plates away. There’s one day in May when it’s late and Isaac hasn’t eaten for two days and he got locked in the freezer overnight. He’s disorientated and crashes into a counter with a plate and a glass that he’s carrying. They smash on the floor and he immediately starts to shake, grabbing a dustpan and trying to sweep as fast as he can.

“Isaac?” His manager calls, coming out to check on what happened. He sees Isaac on his hands and knees, picking up shards of porcelain and glass and trembling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, give me a minute and I’ll clean it up, I promise it won’t happen again.” Isaac apologises.

“Woah, woah, calm down.” David says. “Isaac, it’s okay. It happens literally all the time. Do you need a minute to sort yourself out?” Isaac stands slowly, nods, and excuses himself to the bathroom. He looks at his bloodied hands, wishing he’d been more careful with the glass because he still has two hours left of his shift and he’s gotta close up the kitchen. He wonders how his life became such a mess, and then he realises that maybe he deserves it.

His boss lets him sit down with a glass of water for ten minutes but Isaac is up in five and back to work; cleaning tables and washing dishes like nothing had happened.

He gets home pretty late that night and he walks into the house instantly showered with insults and threats by his father. When Isaac ignores them, his dad grabs his head and shoves him back against the wall. Isaac manages to escape with minor bruises and heads up to his bathroom. He locks the door and sheds his clothes, getting into the shower.

He hates who he is, he hates what he has become. He deserves to die, he tells himself. He gets out of the shower and grabs his razor and makes a few half-hearted cuts on his legs. He waits until they scab up, which doesn’t take long because they’re only superficial, and goes to bed. He doesn’t tell anyone.

That’s how that begins.

 

Rushing up to his room is usually his best bet because that way he can lock his door and have some time to himself to catch his breath, to cry, to crawl out of his window and down the fire escape and go for a run to burn off the nerves and fear and anger.

His new coping method is a little strange and a little brutal, but he doesn’t care. He loves it. He looks it up online, cringing at the photos of young, teenage girls with deep cuts scaling their forearms, but being oddly intrigued.

The internet is basically his primary source of information on anything self-harm related. He knows how to cut properly, the best tools to use, the best way of cleaning up and most importantly, how to conceal them most efficiently. He always wipes his browser history after which is pretty common for a teenage boy, he presumes, so there’s no questions and he’s safe.

 

Tonight goes pretty badly.

He’s home at four because he doesn’t have work. He goes to his room, like usual, and begins on his homework, like usual. He does his homework first in hopes to make his evenings less stressful but it never works and four nights out of seven he’s curled up in a ball on the floor with sobs reverberating through his body, and that number is rapidly increasing as the clock ticks closer to finals week.

So yeah, he does his homework.

He’s got three chapters of biology to read through, a practice essay paper for chemistry, and a maths worksheet that’s got to be done for tomorrow morning. It’s not the worst, but it’s still not that fun and he doesn’t want to do it but he does and as soon as he does it he can get out of the house and go for a run to work off the stress a little.

At five-thirty-five he’s okay. He’s finished the reading and is working on the maths, but he’s doing okay. Until, that is, he hears the door slam shut. He immediately tenses up and pulls the one headphone he’s using out of his ear.

“Isaac!” He hears his dad shout from downstairs. The blood coursing through his veins goes cold. He must take too long to respond, because his dad is shouting again and Isaac feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Yeah, dad?” He calls back.

“Get downstairs, _now_!” Is the response. Not wanting to make his dad wait longer, he stands on shaking legs and rushes downstairs, tripping a little bit on the final step in his efforts. He stands sheepishly in the hallway, looking at where his dad stands by the kitchen door. He looks angry which shouldn’t surprise Isaac but he still feels his heartbeat stop and his hands shake. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong this time.

“You didn’t do the dishes this morning.” His dad says, coolly, calmly, and that sets Isaac even more on edge than he already is.

“I… I didn’t have time, dad, I had to cover the breakfast shift before school, I left the house at five-thirty-”

“I ask you to do _one_ simple thing, one simple thing, and you’re making lame excuses for yourself?”

“Dad, I-”

His dad interrupts him by dragging him into the kitchen by a firm grip to the wrist and all but throws him at the sink. He scrambles back up to standing and leans backwards against the counter.

“I’ve been at work for eight hours, practically slaving away, and my boss has given me shit all day, and you’ve got the _audacity_ to leave dishes for me to do when I get home?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do them, I just wanted to do my homework first, I’ll do the dishes now…” Isaac trailed off, jabbing a thumb awkwardly in the direction of the sink.

“Why the fuck are you being so insolent?” Mr Lahey yells, surging forward and grabbing Isaac by the neck and squeezing hard. It catches Isaac off guard and he chokes out, hands flying up to those around his throat, trying to pry away the fingers cutting off his air supply.

He tries to reply, tries to say that he’s not being insolent, he just wants to make sure his grades are okay, but as soon as he speaks he splutters feebly. One hand loosens its grip from around his throat, and immediately comes back to sock him in the face. The cold metal of his dad’s signet ring cuts into his face harshly, and as he reels backwards, he’s finally loose of the vice around his neck. His dad leans forward, grabbing him and throwing him roughly to the floor. He hits his head on the corner of the kitchen cabinet on the way down. And yeah, that hurts. His head throbs painfully and he can feel where bruises are gonna pop up tomorrow, black and purple and angry. He grimaces and pulls his knees up towards him quickly.

“Have you learnt your lesson yet? Or do I need to make it clearer?”

Isaac tries to speak but his throat betrays him, his voice hoarse and not co-operating. “Please…” He tries.

“Speak up.” His dad commands sharply.

“Please let me go.” Isaac begs, and his dad actually does; stepping aside for Isaac to rush away.

“Go and do your homework, for fuck’s sake. Don’t come down for dinner.” Isaac feels relief flushing through his body as he darts away. He didn’t get locked in the freezer this time, so he had a lucky escape. His dad, childish as ever, sticks out a foot and trips him, and Isaac falls awkwardly to the floor, hurting his knee badly in the process. He tries again, standing up and rushing upstairs as well as he can with his injured leg. He runs into his room, and locks the door behind him.

As soon as the door locks and the key is tossed on the desk, he sinks to the floor, quiet sobs wracking his body and hands clenching into fists. He forces himself up off the carpet and shimmies out of his jeans, leaving him in his boxers. His knee is already purpling at an alarming rate. He rolls up the leg of his underwear a little, flops down onto his bed, and immediately reaches to his bedside drawers for his blade.

He takes comfort in a Stanley knife, because it’s sharp and easy to work with. The moment the blade hits his skin he can feel his troubles melt into the background a little bit. The blade is directed at his upper left thigh today. He cuts fast and angrily and recklessly. He still feels like he’s choking up until there’s about thirty new cuts, and with that, he calms a little more. Taking a deep breath, he stood up again, not letting himself crumble again, and heads to the shower.

He’s told not to cut in the shower because it’s easy to go too far. But just after having cut, the hot water burns and stings the fresh wounds and Isaac revels in the pain, and it’s enough for now. He can breathe a little easier and his heart rate is steadier. He washes his hair and body and hisses when soap hits the cuts.

They bleed for a little after he gets out but he just puts on loose boxer shorts and waits for them to scab over before he can put sweats on. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and sighs. When did this happen? His legs are covered in scars, scaling the complete span of his thighs and even passing his knees at some point.

He’s disgusted with himself.

He looks away before he can get even more upset and pulls on a shirt.

 

 

When he’s almost seventeen, his dad beats him up so bad he considers going to the emergency room. He’s fairly certain his nose is broken and he’s struggling to breathe properly, as well as suffering the regular bruises-on-top-of-bruises situation. Though this time, they’re bad enough to begin flushing purple and dark blue straight away. He googles how to fix a broken nose and patches up any cuts and scrapes he has. He sleeps in the staff room at work that night.

He wakes up with a stiff neck and blood caked on his face. He finds he can breathe a little easier than last night, but his nose is a little wonky now. He supposes he can live with that. He hurries off to the bathroom before anyone can see him, and studies himself in the mirror. He’s got a black eye and a split lip and a cut on his forehead. He looks tired and gaunt and terrified. There’s not a lot in the bathroom but he cleans himself up with hand soap and wads of toilet paper, and heads back to the staff room.

When he gets there, his co-worker, Julie, is sitting cross legged on one of the office chairs. She’s the one who got Isaac the job in the first place. She gasps when she sees Isaac’s face.

“Isaac! What happened to you?” She asks incredulously, rising from her seat and raising a hand to Isaac’s cheek. He flinches away.

“Just some fight with a couple kids at school. Don’t worry about it.” He surreptitiously grabs his bag from the floor and looks at the charts on the board. “I just came in to check my rotas.”

“Isaac.” She says again, sternly this time. He looks over at her, her steady face lined with concern. He could tell her. He could ask for her help.

He decides he doesn’t deserve that; his dad would only find out and Isaac’d probably get locked in the freezer for a week. Instead, he smiles.

“I’m fine, Julie. If something was up, I’d tell you, you know?” He shrugs, and she seems satisfied with the answer. He snaps a photo of the rotas on his phone and hurries out of work and straight to school.

 

Finals are really fucking stressful. He barely makes it through the week without crying and he definitely doesn’t make it without cutting at least once a day now. He keeps a blade in the back of his phone case for emergencies, like after the chemistry final. He’s so nervous when he comes out of the exam hall, he rushes past Stiles and Danny and Erica and runs to the bathroom, first to throw up his nerves, and then to cut vicious lines into his stomach. He’s light this time, so they don’t bleed as much, but they sting like a bitch. He tells himself he deserves it and carries on with his day, finding his friends in the corner of the cafeteria and sliding on the bench next to Scott.

He only half listens to their conversations; about how Kira thinks she aced the exam because she’d borrowed Scott’s notes, and how Lydia and Alison had booked a date at a restaurant that turned out to be really shitty and they ended up picnicking in the park at midnight, and how Malia found out some more information about her dream college, where she hopes to attend in September. He doesn’t feel present. He can hear their conversations and he can respond if he really wants to but he doesn’t really feel like he’s there. He feels as though he’s watching himself through a window. He’s there but he’s too busy worrying about what he might have done wrong according to his dad. He’s just cut in the bathroom but his fingers are positively itching for a blade again.

“Hey, are you okay man?” Scott asks, letting his fingers trail over Isaac’s sweater-clad forearm. Isaac pulls away like he’s been burned, and Scott looks hurt for a minute.

“Sorry. I’m just… tired and shit, I guess.” Isaac mumbles. He looks down at his lunch and anywhere but at Scott.

“That’s cool, man. We’re all a little frazzled. But hey, there’s only the maths final to go, and then we’re free from this hellhole.” Isaac can hear the smile in Scott’s voice, but he can’t muster up one on his own face because all he can think is that as soon as he leaves this hellhole, he has to go back to his house. There’s no way he can afford college, no way he’s smart enough to get a scholarship, so he’ll have to work at his dad’s place for the rest of his life and that terrifies him.

“Oh, I forgot to say. Derek says he’s gonna hold an ‘after finals’ party at his apartment on Friday night.” Stiles says, reaching over Boyd to grab a chip off of Jackson’s plate. “Or, more like, I asked if I could hold a party at his and he said yes because I’m _very_ persuasive.”

Stiles winks, and Isaac almost cracks a smile. He just can’t pull it off. He doesn’t understand why he’s incapable of this stuff sometimes. Everyone else seems to manage it so easily, why can’t he?

 

The party is a buzzing focal point of any senior’s discussions over the next week, mixed in with finals terror. Isaac begins to look forward to it. He asks for the evening off of work and David smiles softly and tells him to enjoy the party. He walks out of his maths exam, his last one, on the verge of tears, but he catches sight of Erica in the corridor and she walks up and double-high fives him enthusiastically. He smiles and she winks, and walks off to follow Boyd to the cafeteria.

 

If Derek’s old house was big, then his apartment is huge. Like seriously, the ceilings were so high it was crazy and there was enough floor space to probably fit two of Isaac’s whole house in it. Isaac stands nervously at the door as he scans the place for someone he knows. Rumour got around the year and now there’s pretty much the entire student body crammed into this apartment. There’s music pumping from somewhere and Isaac jumps when Lydia comes up behind him and taps him gently.

“Hey!” She exclaims. She’s smiling and it’s almost contagious.

“Hi.” Isaac replies. “You look great.”

She does, she’s wearing this playsuit thing and it’s dark emerald velvet and her boots just make her look like she’s walked out of a diamond robbery. She grins like the Cheshire cat when Isaac compliments her.

“Well thank you, Isaac.” She giggles. “I could say the same for you, mister, this fancy get up is definitely going to turn heads tonight.” She gestures to his outfit. He looks down. It’s not particularly fancy; just black jeans and a white tee with a grey jacket over the top, as well as his staple white sneakers. He doesn’t usually bother trying to make himself look good. He knows he’ll hate himself whatever he wears; but tonight he wore his favourite clothes so he was as comfortable as possible.

“Thanks, Lyds.” She takes his hand and drags him over to the bar (read: dining table covered in red solo cups and two litre bottles of sodas) and pours him a drink that’s more vodka than coke and he’s not even complaining.

She saunters off somewhere, probably to find Alison and Isaac is left on his own. He sips from the plastic cup, and then thinks _fuck it_ , downs it, and pours himself another.

 

The first half of the night is pretty much the same. He drinks probably too much and his head is spinning when Scott drags him over to where they’re sitting. Isaac notes how relaxed and calm they all look after that hellish week of finals, and he wedges himself into a gap between Boyd and Malia.

They chat about nothing for a while, just mindless conversation and it’s nice to let his mind wander for a bit. He drinks more and pouts when his cup is empty, but when he looks up at the others, he knows he’s definitely drunk. He quietly listens to their conversations, but he can feel his heart sinking to the floor when he looks at how comfortable Stiles looks in Derek’s lap and how Boyd looks at Erica like she hung the moon and he feels like he’s going to cry. He clumsily excuses himself and makes his way onto Derek’s balcony.

The cool air calms him but he’s still shaking and he knows how to stop the shaking, but he’s at a party for fuck’s sake, he can’t cut in the bathroom because there’s too many people; it’s too risky. Instead he just cries it out. He’s alone and he can, so fuck it. He looks down at the cars passing by. Wonders how he got to be like this, wishing he was in those cars so he could get the fuck out of this place. Wishing he was brave enough to jump and be under one of those cars so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this anymore.

“You okay, man?” Derek says softly, the music of the party muffling when he shuts the door behind him. Derek’s voice startles him when he walks over. He pointedly doesn’t look at the elder man and tries to wipe the tears away from his eyes without Derek noticing.

“I’m okay.” He slurs. “I’ve had too much to drink, I think.”

Derek looks him over. Isaac frowns.

“It’s more than that.” Derek states. “I haven’t seen you smile once over the last week.”

Isaac huffs a humourless laugh, and folds his arms over his chest. Derek’s looking at him like he’s about to jump off the balcony and if that doesn’t sum up Isaac’s life right now he’ll be damned.

“What do you want me to say, Derek?” Isaac sighs. He stumbles back, and Derek helps to prop him up against the wall.

“I don’t know. I just want to understand why you look so miserable all the time.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all. I need a while to recover from finals.” Isaac tries to push away from the wall. “I’m gonna go back inside.”

Derek stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and Isaac flinches away. Derek sighs. “Why don’t you let anyone get close to you?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” He mumbles, picking at his fingernails. He knows he’s not making a lot of sense right now.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Stiles. Erica and Boyd. Allison and Lydia. You guys are all so fuckin’ perfect together, it makes me sick. I’ll never have anyone like that, will I? Nobody’s gonna love me when I’ve got all of this shit going on.”

Isaac doesn’t elaborate on what he means because he’s too busy standing up and bending over the balcony to throw up all the alcohol he’s consumed over the course of the night. He flinches again when Derek tries to rub his back.

Once he’s done he leans back, wipes his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve. He can’t look Derek in the eye.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters.

“It’s fine, Isaac. I’ll get you some water in a minute. What do you mean when you said you’ve got a lot going on? What is it?”

Isaac nearly blurts it out, but he’s not that stupid. He’s just tired. So fucking tired. “Nothing. Don’t worry, Der. It’ll be okay in the end.”

Derek pulls his classic angry eyebrows look as Isaac stumbles past him and back through the apartment, ignoring his friends as he practically runs out the front door.

The walk home is difficult but he manages it, only stopping to puke in an alleyway like twice. He gets indoors and he rushes straight upstairs as quietly as he can. He’s lucky tonight because his dad doesn’t hear him and he can get into his room and lock the door unscathed. He looks at the time on the clock as he undresses and isn’t really surprised to see that it reads almost three in the morning. He leaves his shirt and boxers on and falls into his bed. He grabs his Stanley and cuts at his arms this time. Once for Boyd and Erica. Twice for Lydia and Allison. Three, four, five times for Derek and Stiles. And, because he’s selfish, he cuts six, seven, eight, nine times for himself, because he’s angry about who he’s become.

He falls asleep before he can clean up, and he awakes hungover with dried blood caking his arms, bedsheets, and shirt. He barely makes it to the toilet before he throws up again.

Once he’s showered and dressed and has changed the sheets on his bed, he looks at his phone.

There’s a few texts from his friends asking where he went. The text from Scott basically asks how his hangover is going, and he replies with a photo of a packet of aspirin.

He frowns when he reads Stiles’.

_From Stiles: Derek’s worried about you and so am I. Are you in trouble?_

Isaac grimaces as he taps out a reply.

_To Stiles: Nothing to worry about, I’m fine. :-)_

 

He goes to school the next day, sits in homeroom and stares blankly at posters in front of him. His head is pounding but he knows he’s had worse, so he does his best to ignore it.

As Isaac gets home and is shrugging off his jacket in the hall, he can hear a glass being set down on the table in the kitchen. His blood chills when his father calls for him. He knows better than to ignore his dad so he goes into the kitchen. There’s a near-empty bottle of scotch on the table and his dad is holding a glass. He already knows how this ends.

“Are you going to have anything to eat?” His dad asks, leaning back in his chair slightly. Isaac takes his finished plate and cutlery and takes it to the sink.

“No, no, I’m not really that hungry.” Isaac mumbles. “But I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge.”  
His hands are shaking as he decants the leftovers into plastic boxes and puts them in the refrigerator.  
He keeps his back to his dad at all times because he knows from experience what eye-contact does.

“Your mom used to do that.” His dad says. It’s quiet but Isaac stills immediately. “She used to put the leftovers in the fridge and she never used to eat them the next day. Just left ‘em there until they rotted and threw them out. A fuckin’ waste, if you ask me.”

Isaac says nothing. Knows he can’t.

“I gotta get to work, I’ll see you later.” He says as he dries up his plate.

“I’m glad you got a job. Maybe you can start finally paying rent to live here, I’m not made of money, you know.”

Isaac nods and if he’s crying when he leaves, his dad either doesn’t see or doesn’t care enough to bother to mention.

 

 

He’s eighteen when he tries to kill himself. It happens on a Thursday evening after a particularly brutal argument with his dad. Isaac was out with Scott, and they were going over university applications together at his work. Julie made them these killer milkshakes out of ice cream and crushed Oreos and they went over the best colleges around for them. Scott convinces Isaac to apply for three different scholarships, insisting that Isaac is smart enough for them all. He gets home around twelve thirty after walking Scott back to his house and they end up chatting over coffee in his kitchen for a while.

His dad screams at him for being irresponsible, for being reckless, for doing something his brother would never have done.

“I was looking at _college applications_ , dad, it’s not like I was out partying!” Isaac yells back. He doesn’t know where his assertion is coming from, but he’s angry. His fists are clenched by his sides, and his dad stands across from him in the living room.

“How am I supposed to believe that, huh?” Mr Lahey sticks his arm out, grabbing Isaac’s shirt and pushing him back against the wall. “You’re nothing but a liar. You’ll never get into college, Isaac, you’re too fucking dumb for that. I bet you cheated on all of your finals, because there’s no way you’re smart enough to pass any of those fucking exams. You’re nothing but a lying, cheating little shit, and you ruined my fucking life!”

He punches Isaac and Isaac isn’t even surprised at this point. His anger has dissipated and he’s just so fucking done. He just lets it happen and doesn’t try to fend for himself this time.

“You saw me studying. I’ve been revising for months for these exams and you _know_ I’d never do something like that. I’m not fucking stupid, dad. I’m trying my best.”

His dad grabs hold of his throat, and snarls at the teenager. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you! You don’t respect me or this house and I’m trying to get it into your fucking brain that you’ll never amount to anything. I’m trying to _protect_ you, what part of that don’t you understand, Camden?”

It’s not intentional. It’s a slip up. Mr Lahey realises what he’s said as soon as it comes out of his mouth. He stills, and Isaac rushes up to his room, his heart cold in his chest. He locks the door and stares at the bedside cabinet where he keeps his Stanley blade.

He grabs the knife and in his desperation, he presses the blade firmly to his wrist. He cuts deep this time, deeper than he’s ever done before, and blood instantly begins to pour out of his arm and into the sink in front of him. It looks like a goddamn horror movie in his bathroom, but this doesn’t deter him. He slashes the other, faster than the first and just as deep if not, worse. The scary part is that it doesn’t hurt. It’s a relief.

When he cuts he always hopes he can actually feel something, as opposed to how fucking numb he is all the time. He hopes he finds emotion, finds pain in the wounds, and he usually doesn’t, but this time, the fact that it doesn’t even hurt releases more emotions than he’d thought. He feels alive, he thinks, as he’s trying to kill himself.

Somewhere about five minutes after he’s done it, he realises he’s in deep shit. The blood isn’t slowing or scabbing over. It doesn’t stop. His sink is filling with the stuff and he’s shaking. He needs to get help, he thinks as he begins to panic. He forces himself to calm down.

His feet carry him down the fire escape and to Stiles’ house. It’s not too far away, but somewhere in the journey he begins to cry and he’s pretty sure he fell down a few times. He knocks on the door and thank god it’s not the sheriff. Instead, it’s Stiles in too-big sweatpants and a smile on his face. The smile fades instantly when he sees Isaac’s face, bruised up and swollen and tearstained.

“I… I need your help.” He holds out his shaking wrists, his stained sleeves and all, and Stiles’ breath hitches and he curses when he sees the blood, and he quickly but firmly pulls Isaac upstairs into the bathroom.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t want to deal with it anymore.” Isaac slurs as he stumbles upstairs. “I deserve this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Isaac, you don’t. You don’t deserve this.” Isaac says nothing because he’s too dizzy to actually be able to form sentences.

“Come on, sit here.” Stiles says softly, pressing Isaac down onto the closed lid of the toilet. He grabs a first aid kit and begins to wrap or at least clean the wounds. Isaac is suddenly really tired, and he leans his head against the cool tiles on the wall.

“No, Isaac. Stay with me, man.” Stiles taps his knee hard, and Isaac’s vision is swimming when he sees someone step into the room. The person swears and comes a little closer, and Isaac recognises Derek.

“Der, can you call Melissa please?” Stiles says. He’s trying to keep calm for Isaac but his heart is racing and he is panicking.

“She’s working. We’ll drive him up to the hospital.” Derek says, and Isaac registers the colourful pyjama bottoms the man is wearing. Isaac smiles softly, and then he’s being lifted up and his brain doesn’t comprehend how he gets downstairs and in the car but here he is.

Derek sits in the back of the Jeep with him, forcing him to stay awake. He doesn’t understand. All he wants to do is sleep. Derek’s hands are warm on his arms and he rests his head back on the head restraint.

“Are you guys taking me home?” He mumbles. “I don’t want to go back home. Please don’t make me go back to him, don’t take me back to my dad.”

He doesn’t see Stiles’ hands grip the wheel a little tighter. He doesn’t see the frown on Derek’s face. They’ve figured it out and they’re furious. Isaac’s just tired.

Suddenly there’s bright lights and chemicals and finally, finally, he gets to fall asleep.

 

He wakes up later and his head hurts like mad. He blinks for a minute, and looks around the room. It’s not his bedroom. It’s a hospital room. He’s got an IV pumping medicine into his bloodstream and his wrists are bandaged. Stiles is sitting in the armchair placed in the room by the bed, and he’s smiling, but it’s this weird tight-lipped smile that puts Isaac on edge.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asks softly.

“I’m… my head hurts.” Isaac mumbles. “What… what happened?”

Stiles leans back in his chair slightly. “You came to my house and you asked for help. You’d… you’d slit your wrists and you were bleeding out. So we drove you to the hospital and they stitched you up and gave you a transfusion and they said you’ll be okay. You’re safe now. You were so brave.”

Isaac doesn’t say anything because he remembers why he did it now. He looks at the clean white bandages covering his wrists and his heart sinks. He doesn’t feel brave. He feels weak.

“Why did you do it, Isaac?” Stiles asks. His voice breaks halfway through the question and Isaac bites his lip.

“It’s just… an attention thing, I guess.” Isaac lies.

“If it was an attention thing, we would have known about it by now, and you know that.” Stiles pushes. “You mentioned your dad in the Jeep. Is it to do with him?”

Isaac frowns. Stiles says he’s safe here. Stiles won’t tell his dad and Stiles’ dad is the sheriff and Isaac trusts Stiles. “Yes,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “yes, it’s about my dad. He tells me I deserve it.”

“Isaac-”

“He blames me for my mother and my older brother, I guess. My mom died when I was little and my brother got killed in action and I guess I grew up to be a disappointment.”

Stiles doesn’t respond. Isaac watches as his eyes glass over and he knows he’s done something wrong.

“Stiles, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I-”

“No, no. Isaac, don’t worry.” Stiles sniffs. “It’s not that. It’s… you’re the kindest, purest person I know, and you just… you believe you deserve this. It doesn’t make sense, and yeah, it upsets me, because you can’t see what a fantastic person you are.”

It’s Isaac’s turn to stay silent.

“Derek and I want to _help_ you, you know that?” Stiles leans forward and gently takes Isaac’s hand.  
“We’ll find you a therapist, yeah? That’ll help, and if it doesn’t, I’m sure there’s other things we can try. We want you to be happy, Isaac.”

“I… I can’t have a therapist.” Isaac stammers, looking at where Stiles’ long fingers are gripping onto his tightly. “I can’t afford one.”

“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll sort it out. The important part is that you get help.”

“Stiles-”

“Isaac, I can’t have you passing out in my bathroom because you tried to kill yourself, okay? You need to get better. And if you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for us.”

Isaac nods at Stiles’ harsh tone, but he understands. He doesn’t want to get better. He wants to die and he wants to get away from his dad and he wants to see Camden and his mother again. But if he has to get better for Stiles and Derek and the rest of his friends, then he’ll do it just to see them happy.

It’s at that point when Derek comes back in the room. He’s got a pack of Reese’s for Stiles and a bag of M&M’s for Isaac. Isaac nearly cries at the good gesture.

“Hey man, how you feeling?” Derek asks, as he takes a seat next to Stiles and starts to dig into his own bag of Skittles.

“I’ve been better, but I’m okay.”

“You’re getting there, though. That’s what counts.” Derek smiles, but frowns when Stiles steals a Skittle from his bag. “I was thinking, you can come stay at my place tonight, if you wanted.”

Derek is trying his best to be blasé about it but Isaac knows it’s because Derek knows about his dad.

“That’s really sweet, Derek, but I have work.”

Stiles and Derek share a look, and then Stiles squeezes his hand gently. “Sweetie, you can’t go to work today. You need some time to recover.”

“The doctor says you need to be resting for at least a week.” Derek adds.

Isaac blanches. “I… I have to call David, I have to call my manager… they won’t be able to find cover for this evening on that much short notice…”

“It’s okay, I’m sure they’ve got someone. I can call if you want?” Derek offers.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll call him. Is it cool if I could borrow your phone?”

Stiles hands over his phone and unlocks it for him, and then the two of them leave the room to give him a bit of privacy.

His manager picks up after three rings.

“Hi, it’s… it’s Isaac.” Isaac stammers, his hands shaking. He can hear the beep of the heart rate monitor speed up next to him.

“Hi Isaac, are you alright?” David sounds cheerful.

“Yeah, I… um, I’m not gonna be able to make it in tonight. Or the rest of the week, actually.”

“Hey, is everything okay?”

Isaac’s breath hitches. “Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m in the hospital at the moment, but the doctor says I need to rest for about a week. I’m sorry it’s such short notice, and I get it if you want to fire me, but I’ll be back and ready for work by next Monday so if you still want me there I can do as many shifts as you need me to-”

“Isaac!” His boss interrupts. Isaac falls silent immediately. “You’re in the hospital? What happened?”

“I… I, um, I had an accident. It’s a long story.” He realises this sounds super wishy-washy but he’s not prepared to tell his boss that he tried to kill himself last night because of his abusive father, so he sticks with it.

“Well… okay. That’s fine, I’ll put you on sick leave for this week. Let us know how you’re doing, alright?”

“Will do. Thank you, sir.” Isaac hangs up and takes a few deep breaths to try and calm himself.

 

He’s let out about two hours later with pamphlets about psychiatric wards and therapists and medication. Stiles loans Isaac some sweats and a t-shirt because his old clothes got a lot of blood on them and had to be thrown out. They drive him straight to Derek’s where Derek immediately goes off to make tea and Stiles grabs Isaac and a blanket and snuggles up with him on the couch.

Isaac feels safe around Derek and Stiles because they’re the right amount of calm and collected versus high-energy and chaotic. They balance each other out and Isaac feels right at home. He doesn’t feel like a third wheel because Derek and Stiles make sure he feels comfortable with everything.

They sit and watch a movie for an hour and a half, and Stiles falls asleep on Isaac’s shoulder, despite it being the middle of the day. They had a pretty long night, after all.

“Hey, Isaac. Can I show you something upstairs?” Derek says softly. Isaac nods, and gently removes himself from Stiles’ grip and leaves him curled up in the blanket on the sofa.

 

Derek smiles fondly as he places a hand gently in the middle of Isaac’s back and leads him upstairs, and pushes open a door to reveal a bedroom. It’s white and soft blue and nothing like the rest of Derek’s apartment, yet strikingly similar at the same time. There’s a fluffy beige carpet and a big double bed and soft net curtains fluttering in the cool breeze from an open window.

“This is for you, if you want it.” Derek says. His voice is quiet, sincere, and Isaac can barely tear his eyes off of the beautiful room to look at the elder man.

“I… it’s too much to ask-”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

“I’ll be a hassle.” Isaac says.

“No you won’t. Nobody lives in this room and it’s just collecting dust.” Derek nudges him gently. “Just help me clean sometimes when you feel like it. And if you can cook, that’s a bonus, because I need someone to teach me how to make something other than toast once in a while.”

Isaac smiles. Derek is being genuine. This is Isaac’s chance to get out of that hellhole.

“As long as you’re alright with it. You can always kick me out if I’m a shitty roommate.”

“Please,” Derek scoffs, folding his arms. “I don’t think you can get much worse than Stiles. He leaves mess _everywhere_. It’s fucking annoying when you constantly trip over skinny jeans and flannel shirts on your way to the bathroom.”

Isaac laughs then, and it’s real and for Derek it sounds like sunshine. They step into the room, but Derek holds back as Isaac gently explores the room.

“What about my stuff?” Isaac frets, running his fingers over the soft fabric of the bedsheets.

“I’ll go get it if you want, or Stiles and I can come with you. Whatever you want. You’re safe now, okay?”

“I’ll come with you.” Isaac drops his hands to his sides. “And Stiles, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

 

Isaac is armed with cardboard boxes that Stiles has given him as he enters the house later on that afternoon. His dad isn’t in, and Isaac thanks every god that he can think of. They make their way upstairs, where Stiles has to pick the lock on Isaac’s room, because it’s still locked from when he left through the window. When they get in, it’s quickly apparent that the bathroom is still a mess, and Isaac pales at the sight of the blood on the tiled floor and the drops on the carpet.

“It’s okay, I’ll sort that out. You grab your stuff.” Stiles quickly says, rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Isaac takes a couple of deep breaths and starts grabbing clothes from a dresser. Derek begins to load books into a cardboard box.

 

It turns out he doesn’t have a lot of stuff anyway, just three boxes and his backpack. He’s taken his pictures of his mother, the letters from her before she left, the birthday card Cam got him, and his dog tags, and packed those safely into his backpack. Derek respectfully turns away and begins loading stuff into Stiles’ car when Isaac is taking a last look around his room.

Stiles exits the bathroom smelling of bleach and a distraught look on his face. Isaac looks over just as Stiles is pulling him into a tight hug.

“Please never try to leave again. We love you too much, Isaac. Please.”

Isaac feels tears form in his eyes and he nods into Stiles’ shoulder. “I won’t.” he mumbles. It’s a promise.

They take the last two boxes down together and then they’re gone, and Isaac stares at the house as they drive away.

 

Derek’s house is the home he’d always dreamt of. Derek looks after him like a father or a big brother, and he just _gets it._ He understands what it’s like to be alone.

Isaac begins to find it increasingly difficult to get out of bed. He just doesn’t find purpose, there’s no point. He stays there, staring straight at the wall for hours until Derek comes up and finds him buried in blankets. For the first few days, Derek lets him stay in bed. Derek finds him sometimes with tears pooling on the pillow, and Isaac shaking like a leaf, but he never says anything about it. He just sets a mug of some calming tea on the bedside table, and lets Isaac be.

One day, Derek takes a different approach. He goes to Isaac’s room, draws the curtains and pushes up the window. Isaac squints over at Derek.

“Hey, so I need to do some laundry today, can you give me a hand?” Derek says. Isaac considers for a second. He needs to help Derek and he promised, so he nods.

“Yeah, just give me a minute. Is it cool if I take a shower first?” Isaac asks quietly.

“That’s cool. Take your time, I’ve got to sort out all of Stiles’ shit that he left here this week.” Derek smirks because he knows his plan worked and walks out of the room.

It takes Isaac almost fifteen minutes to actually get out of the bed. He doesn’t know why it takes so long, but he pads across to the bathroom armed with a fresh change of clothes, and lets the hot steam of the shower calm him. He’s exhausted by the time he gets out, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel and leaning back on the bathroom counter to steady himself. He grabs his toothbrush and brushes his teeth, pointedly not looking at his reflection.

He feels stronger by the time he’s finished, and he goes back to his room. Derek’s stripping his bedsheets, and Isaac anxiously clutches at his bundle of pyjamas.

“Oh hey, I was gonna do all the sheets first so they can dry in the sun. That cool?” Derek asks, and Isaac nods.

“Derek.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For… for all of _this_.” Isaac’s voice is quiet and shaky. He doesn’t know if he’s getting his point across, and he wishes he could articulate his feelings better, but Derek grins and leans over to pat Isaac on the shoulder.

“It’s okay, Isaac.”

 

Derek suggests joining a sports team to help him channel his anger in a different way that wouldn’t involve him hurting himself. Derek mentions he used to play basketball to cope with the loss of his family, to channel his anger into exercise, to force him to do something other than sit around and stew in his misery. Isaac nods and Stiles mentions how the lacrosse team always needs new players, and a lot of their friends are on the team already. Isaac promises he’ll talk to Coach when they get back to school.

Stiles also recommends Dr Morrell, the school therapist, to Isaac when they’re alone and washing up plates from dinner. Stiles says that she was great when he was going through a rough patch – and that she’s not judgemental and wants to see you succeed. Isaac feels dizzy just thinking about having to talk to someone about it.

 

He goes back to work on Wednesday. Stiles suggests that he rests for another week, but Isaac needs the money for college and he needs to take a break from Derek and Stiles. They’re great and they’re helping but Isaac feels like he’s suffocating; he’s never had this much positive attention. He feels like he needs to go and hide for a little bit.

So yeah, he goes to work.

He asks to see his manager alone, and David takes him into the office.

“I… um. This is really awkward.” Isaac shuffles, nervously readjusts his work apron, hands shaking by his sides. “I won’t… I can’t do any dishes for a while. It’s… I can’t get my bandages wet. The doctor says I could get the stitches infected.”

Isaac looks away, but pulls his sleeves up a bit for proof. He wants to throw up, he wants to run away, he wants to be anywhere but here in front of his boss who’s scanning over the bandages on his wrists, clear and blatant evidence that he tried to kill himself a week ago.

The doctor said his stitches could get wet forty eight hours after they were done, but there’s higher risk of infection when having your arms in washing up water for hours at a time.

“Isaac, why the fuck did you come into work?” David says. Isaac doesn’t look up because he’s scared he’s gonna see the same expression his dad had when he’d fucked up.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken the week off. I’ll do double shifts if that makes up for it, if you still want me here. I can do the dishes, it’s fine, I know I was stupid for asking-”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not in trouble. I meant why did you come into work, when you should be recovering?”

“I said I’d be back in a week.” Isaac says meekly.

“Isaac.” His boss’ tone is firm and his hands are on his hips. Isaac pulls his arms in close to his body and tries to make himself as small as possible. He’s pinching the skin on his forearm to try and calm his nerves. “ _What happened?”_

It’s a strange thing when something big like this happens. Isaac’s gone from not telling anyone about anything personal for the last ten years of his life, and now there’s his closest friends – no doubt that the word has travelled to the rest of their friend group – and a therapist and a doctor and now his boss that need to know the things he’s kept private for so long. Isaac isn’t grounded enough to be able to do this, but there’s something that makes him do it anyway.

“I tried to kill myself on Thursday and now I have stitches in my wrists.” He says it so it’s blunt and there’s no room for deliberation. His boss has now sunk to the office chair behind him, and Isaac continues to stand anxiously in front of him.

“Isaac… if you were feeling… if you’ve been feeling like this for a while, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t.”

 

David, after a few kind words of support and a promise of confidentiality, lets Isaac man the small bar they have at the diner. He mostly prepares teas and coffees and pours soft drinks for the kids coming in to eat with their parents. He then takes them to the correct table, asking for refills if they want them and taking away empty glasses. It keeps him calm; having to follow exact orders as fast as he can. It gets him away from his mind for a bit.

He wears a long sleeve shirt and jeans under the apron and feels a little bit more protected. David checks in after about two hours, and Isaac smiles at his manager. Things are different, but he thinks he’s got this. He can do this.

 

On Thursday evening, he takes to Derek’s balcony, and sits cross legged on the cement floor. He shimmies up close to the railings and watches the moving cars on the road below. It’s oddly reminiscent of the end of finals party, except this time, he’s sober, and this time, it’s been a week since he tried to kill himself.

“What are you thinking about?” Derek’s voice startles him, and he whips his head around to see the tall man standing there with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. Isaac smiles, and gestures for Derek to come and sit next to him.

“How it’s been a week since the accident.” That’s what Isaac refers to it as now. It wasn’t an accident, he knows, and he knows everyone around him knows. He just prefers to say it that way.

“Yeah, it has. You feeling good or are you feeling bad, or somewhere in between?”

Isaac mulls it over for a minute before replying; “A bit of both, I guess. It’s good that I’m still alive and I haven’t self harmed in a week, theoretically. But it’s bad because I’d do anything for a blade right now.”

Derek leans back a little bit, takes a sip of his hot chocolate, and sighs. “That feeling doesn’t really go away, I’m afraid.”

Isaac looks over to Derek in inquisitiveness. Derek sighs again as he begins to answer the unspoken question. “After my family died, I took to self harming like you. I used a lighter to burn my skin. It’s brutal, but it worked for me. I did that for years because I blamed myself for it, but when I met Stiles and Scott and the rest of our friends, it got a little bit easier. I’m not saying friendship and romance cures everything because it sure as shit doesn’t, but it helps.”

Isaac takes a swig of the hot sugary drink. “But what if it doesn’t get easier?” His voice is quiet.

“It might not, for a while. It might get really difficult and it might take you years to overcome.” Derek looks out at the headlights driving south through the city. “But the important thing to remember is that you’ve got us to come to. When you’re having a bad day, talk to one of us. You know nobody’s gonna judge, and we’re usually good at being supportive.”

“How did you do it? How did you get better?”

Derek smiles sadly, and reaches into his back pocket. He uncurls his palm to reveal a little green lighter. “I didn’t. I still have to carry this thing around just for emergencies, but it’s not as much now. I saw a therapist for a long time, and he taught me to see things from a different perspective. Good always comes after a bad situation. It’s gonna get easier for you, Isaac.”

By this point the teenager is crying and he leans into Derek’s side. He ends up telling Derek everything, from his mom, to Camden, to the freezer, and Derek listens patiently. He doesn’t judge and he doesn’t lose his cool.

They end up talking until three in the morning, until Isaac is sleepy and their mugs of hot chocolate have long gone cold.

Isaac wakes up tucked into his bed the next morning, with absolutely no recollection of how he got there.

 

He doesn’t know how it got around, but when he walks into school on that Monday morning, all eyes are on him. He wants to scream or vomit or just about-turn and go home but he can’t because he has to go otherwise his potential scholarship goes down the drain. So he tightens his grip on his backpack and plunders on, through the crowds of students and towards his homeroom.

There’s no way he wouldn’t have heard the whispers from the other students as he walked down the halls. There’s things like _did you hear? That’s Isaac, he tried to kill himself last week_ and _I heard he swallowed four bottles of pills_ and _no, dude, can’t you see the bandages? He obviously cut his wrists_ and Isaac feels sick to his stomach.

He detours his homeroom and heads to the bathroom, where he locks himself in a stall, clumsily falls to the floor, and rakes sharp fingernails through his hair. He’s triggered. He doesn’t know how he gets to this point but here he is with cold shivers running down his spine and his hands curling into claws and his fingertips positively _itching_ for, well, anything at this point. He closes his eyes and pointedly ignores the tears that squeeze out from between his lashes. This doesn’t do anything because he just sees visions of torn skin, flashes of sliver and crimson and he gets onto his knees and vomits into the toilet bowl. There’s nothing in his stomach to digest so it’s just bile and it stings and burns his throat.

It’s as he’s retching into the bowl he thinks _would Camden be proud of me? Would my mother be proud of me?_

He answers himself. _No._

 

“Hey, are you alright in there?” There’s a gentle knock to the stall door, and Isaac’s hands start to shake.

“Yeah, yeah. Hangover.” He plays it off, standing up on trembling legs and supporting himself with the walls of the stall. His fingers brush over graffiti and crude words but he can’t focus.

“Isaac?” the voice persists, and Isaac realises they’re not going to leave until Isaac shows his face. He wipes his mouth over the back of his sleeve, and unlocks the door.

It’s Boyd, looking terrified as usual. Ever since he found out about the whole suicide thing he’s been a little bit freaked out. Isaac thinks that it has something to do with his little sister, but he doesn’t ask.

“I’m okay.” Isaac states bluntly. He goes to the sinks and rinses his mouth out. He’s washing his hands when he sees those brown eyes staring him down in the mirror. He sighs and resists rolling his eyes.

“No offence, but you look like shit.” Boyd says. “You’re pale as fuck, too skinny for someone your size and you’ve got dark circles for _days_ , bro.”

Isaac almost smiles. “How am I not supposed to take offence?”

Boyd winces, and looks up at Isaac sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just saying, you’re definitely not okay.”

“I’ll be fine. I need to get to my homeroom.” Isaac wipes his hands dry with a paper towel.

 

They’re playing lacrosse after school when the storm begins. It’s been sunny for days and the pressure in the air was off, so there was bound to be some kind of storm. They were just misfortunate enough to catch it whilst they’re on the field. Coach being coach, they stay until practice is scheduled to be over, and head inside, completely soaked through. The locker room is sullen and miserable, each member of the team peeling off sodden clothes and dumping them on the floor. Isaac huddles into his locker space, trying to cover his scars and frowning when he knows he has to replace bandages when he gets home. He’s learnt to change quickly but he can still feel eyes on him.

“What?” he sighs exasperatedly, turning to his left only to see Scott standing with his lacrosse stick in hand, probably about to re-lace the net but got distracted by Isaac’s scars.

“Nothing.” The captain blurts out, going red and turning away. Isaac frowns, and notices his hands beginning to shake. He dresses quicker, grabs his rucksack, and heads to the bike sheds.

He finds, when he arrives at Derek’s apartment, that his hands are still shaking. He shrugs it off and goes upstairs, unlocking the front door and pulling it open. Derek’s not there, and neither is Stiles, so Isaac just toes off his shoes and heads up to his room. He dumps his bag on his bed, and heads to the shower to try and warm up after having just played and cycled home in torrential rain. He wraps himself in a fluffy towel after he’s done in the shower, and then changes into his comfy sweats, an old t-shirt, and a big woollen cardigan over the top. His phone, discarded on top of the duvet, begins to vibrate with an incoming call. Isaac picks up the phone, and doesn’t bother checking caller ID when he answers.

“Hello?”

“Isaac, where the fuck are you?”

Hearing the sharp tone of Mr Lahey’s voice just sends chills down Isaac’s spine. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of changing his number, or why his dad wouldn’t realise he was gone, but he freezes in shock. He should have checked caller ID, he just presumed it’d be either Stiles or Derek but he’d never expected _this_.

“Dad-”

“You’ve just up and gone, then? Huh? When were you going to tell me you fucking _left?_ ”

“Dad, listen-”

“No, you listen to me, you insolent little shit. You get back to this house before tonight, you hear me? Or I will find where you are and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Isaac feels bile in the back of his throat. He doesn’t say anything, but the line cuts and he’s met with silence. He’s shaking worse than ever now, but he sinks to the floor and curls up on himself. His mind is racing. You can track phone calls now, he shouldn’t have answered because now his dad can find him. He should pack up his stuff now and get back to his dad’s house, because his dad doesn’t make empty threats and he’d probably only get locked in the freezer for a while, and that’s no big deal, he can handle that, as long as he can get his hands on a blade afterwards-

A blade, Isaac thinks. He doesn’t have any on him anymore, because Stiles and Derek confiscated them when he moved in, but he could find something in the apartment that he could use. Just to clear his head, just to make him calmer, just so he can think properly about what he has to do.

He continues to argue with himself. He can’t cut because his friends will be disappointed in him. Stiles will panic and Derek will place a hand on his shoulder in the _I_ _’m not mad, I’m just disappointed_  way that makes Isaac’s skin crawl.

But he’s triggered now. He needs to cut. That’s all he can think about. He tries to take deep breaths, he closes his eyes and clenches his fists, and after a minute or so, he grabs his phone.

He rings Derek, and then Stiles, but their phones both go straight to voicemail. Isaac can’t breathe. He ends up with a finger over the call button next to Scott McCall’s name, on the verge of just giving up and going downstairs and grabbing a kitchen knife. He presses call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Scott.” He curses himself for having such a shaky voice. “Are you with Stiles?”

“No, no, they’re over at Stiles’ dad for dinner tonight, didn’t they leave you a note?”

“Oh.” Isaac rubs a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, they probably did. I didn’t look. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Isaac, wait.” Scott protests over the phone, his voice metallic through the line. “Are you okay?”

Isaac contemplates lying. He thinks about just saying _no I’m fine I just needed to ask him something and he’s not answering his phone_ but then he remembers sitting on the balcony with Derek who said to talk to one of them if things got bad, so he just lets the words tumble out of his mouth.

“Not… not really?” He words it as a question. “My dad called, I… I’d forgotten to change the number, and I just… I can’t breathe, Scott.”

Isaac can hear rummaging in the background of the call, the sound of heavy footsteps, and a door slamming. “Okay, Isaac. Stay with me man, I’m on my way over. I only live like a block away from Derek’s, I’ll be there really soon. You think you can stay on the line with me?”

Isaac shuts his eyes and nods, forgetting Scott can’t see him. “Yeah, Scott. Don’t come all the way over, it’s not that important-”

“Yes it is, Isaac.” Scott’s voice is firm. “I’m about a minute away. Can you get to the front door to unlock it for me? And buzz me up through the intercom?”

Isaac thinks for a second. “Yes.” He says, and stands on shaky legs and stumbles down to the front door, where he unlocks the front door so Scott can come in.

“Are you alright, Isaac?”

Isaac’s standing with the phone pressed to his ear and his free hand clenched into the fabric of his cardigan.

“Yeah.” He says softly.

“Okay, I’m here, can you buzz me up, please?”

Isaac does, and Scott’s there in an instant, warm arms wrapping around Isaac’s middle and Isaac doesn’t even have time to flinch. He inhales Scott’s scent of dark chocolate and oranges and he tries to control his breathing.

Scott runs damage control which involves helping Isaac to breathe normally, recounting what actually happened and then helping Isaac breathe normally again after he works himself into a panic again. Scott brews some peppermint tea for them both and sets the mugs on the coffee table, gently steering Isaac to the sofa and throwing a blanket around him. Isaac is still shaking, but colour has returned to his face and he doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up as much anymore.

“How do you feel about watching a movie?” Scott asks, and Isaac nods, grateful for the distraction. Scott gets a DVD from the shelf and Isaac is pleasantly surprised when he realises Scott has somehow picked his favourite movie. He says as much, and Scott beams.

Scott dims the lights and settles in on the sofa next to Isaac. Isaac watches the way he tucks his legs underneath him and holds his mug in his hand to keep them warm.

“Hey,” Isaac begins softly. “I’m sorry about snapping at you in the locker room today.”

Scott looks over with an almost bewildered look on his face. “Dude, no. It’s chill, I shouldn’t have been staring anyway. Total violation of your privacy.”

Isaac shrugs. “It just… I walked into school and everybody was talking about it like I was some monster, and… it just got to me, I guess? They’re not that interesting; it’s just _bandages_. You can see them if you want.” He tugs on his sleeves to pull them back and shows the white bandages stretched across his wrists. Scott runs soft fingertips over the gauze and Isaac holds his breath. He realises that other than Stiles and Derek, nobody’s really touched him without the intention of hurting him since Cam. He decides he likes it, and leans into Scott.

“You’re not a monster, Isaac.” Scott says, almost a whisper. “The _furthest_ thing from it. I think… I think you’re brave and special and I’m proud of you, and I’ll always be proud of you. Regardless of what everyone else says.”

Isaac feels his nose prickle but he just mumbles his appreciation and they get back to watching the movie with Isaac’s head on Scott’s shoulder and Scott’s hand resting on Isaac’s knee. It’s calm and comfortable and Isaac feels safe.

They’re about three quarters of the way through the film when they hear a key in the door, and Isaac pales, but he’s alright when he sees Derek walk in, followed closely by Stiles carrying an armful of Tupperware containers. Stiles nearly drops them when he sees Isaac wrapped in a blanket on the sofa with Scott tucked up by his side and Isaac’s favourite film on the screen.

“Hey, guys, is everything alright?” Derek asks, dropping his keys in the dish on the console table and toeing off his shoes.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Isaac calls, not completely lying either. Since Scott got here he’s been able to breathe properly and he’s calmer than he has been in a while. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s good. Eating too much red meat and doing too much work, but he’s good.” Stiles says as he flops down in the armchair next to the sofa that Scott and Isaac are on.

Isaac gets up on shaky legs, tossing the blanket onto the sofa. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Ooh, green tea please!” Stiles grins, and Isaac nods as he leaves to head to the kitchen. He finds Derek stacking the Tupperware boxes into the fridge. He takes the kettle to the sink and fills it with water.

“Hey, Derek?” Isaac says, as casually as he can muster. “What’s the fastest way to change a cellphone number?”

Derek turns quickly to look at Isaac with wide eyes because he knows something’s up. “What happened?” He asks, the tone in his voice panicked. Isaac looks at his socks.

“It’s nothing… it’s… my dad called, and I didn’t check caller ID, and he threatened to… he said he was gonna come find me if I didn’t come home tonight. I think you can trace the location of a call now and I think he’s going to come here and-” He takes a deep breath, and tries to steady his shaking hands. It’s been hours and he’s still fucking shaking and it’s getting worse again. “I called Scott because I didn’t know where you guys were and he came over and helped me.”

Derek’s leaning on the counter to steady himself. Isaac stands with his arms wrapped around himself tightly. The kitchen is silent except from the gentle whirr of the fridge and the sound of the kettle boiling.

“Isaac, what else did he say?” Derek says, his voice quiet but firm.

Isaac doesn’t look at Derek. “He said he’d kill me.” He hears Derek walk closer to him, hears the rustling of his jeans as he crosses the kitchen, but Isaac doesn’t move. “He wasn’t… he doesn’t do empty threats, Derek, and I’m fucking terrified.”

Derek swears under his breath. “Can… can we report this to Stiles’ dad?” He asks.

“Derek, _no_ , you know he’s gonna find out-”

“ _Isaac_!” Derek almost shouts. “Step back for a minute and look at this. You won’t report him because he’ll find out you reported him. You got a _death threat_ from him telling you to get home tonight, where you know something bad is going to happen. You tried to kill yourself because it was so bad. Can’t you see how messed up this is? We have to do something, because you can’t live your life being afraid, and we can’t bear to find you at the door bleeding out again!” Derek is exasperated and Isaac understands even if he is shocked at Derek’s sudden change in behaviour. He’s petrified of what might happen in any given situation. He realises now that living in fear isn’t going to help. However much he covers it with Stiles and Derek and the apartment and work, it isn’t going to go away until he does something.

“Okay.” He says in a small voice. He whips his head around when he sees movement in the doorframe, and sees Stiles standing with Scott a few steps behind him. They’ve obviously been eavesdropping. Isaac lets his eyes flicker over to Scott and sees that the teenager is pulling this sad smile that makes Isaac’s heart flutter in his chest and now he wants to dissolve into the floor. He hates feeling like this. He hates that his friends see him as this injured puppy that they have to fix. He gives his phone to Derek and pushes past Scott and Stiles to go to his room. He sulks for a bit and then just gives up and gets into bed. He wishes he was normal. He wishes he didn’t spend the last decade being in an abusive household. He wishes his brother was still around. He wishes he could be anything but who he is.

He can hear voices downstairs but he closes his eyes, which to his dismay, are filled with hot tears, and tries to fall asleep.

 

 

Isaac is close to nineteen when he relapses hard. Since he sat down and answered questions from a police officer, his dad was sent to jail for eighteen months and given a criminal record. Isaac nearly threw up when he heard the news. He takes himself to the woods and finds a lake, and sits in quiet, apologising to his mother and Camden about what happened. He doesn’t forgive himself.

So yeah, he’s close to nineteen when he escapes to his room, unable to breathe and with shaking hands. He locks himself in his bathroom and cries and cuts until his legs are so bloodstained he doesn’t even know what damage he’s done. He feels like he can breathe when he’s finished. He makes sure to do it when Stiles and Derek are out and Scott’s not around, but that still doesn’t mask the guilt he feels when he is cleaning the wounds with strong antiseptic to make them sting for longer.

He wraps his legs in gauze to prevent bleeding on his jeans and he watches TV on his laptop like nothing’s happened. Stiles gets home before Derek does and calls up to Isaac and asks if he wants a cup of tea. Isaac pads downstairs to greet him instead, and they hook Isaac’s laptop up to the TV and end up watching the show together. Isaac feels sick because he knows about the cuts on his legs that are burning his skin and Stiles thinks he’s doing _so well_ but really, he’s back to square one. He keeps his mouth shut and drinks his tea. This isn’t the first secret he’s kept before.

 

Scott organises a movie night later that week, the night before they’re all (albeit Derek) due to get their high school final grades. Isaac is beside himself with worry and he cuts several times on his stomach before they leave. He insists on taking his bike as opposed to getting a lift in Derek’s car, and the fresh air calms him as he cycles along the pavements. It doesn’t take long before Isaac is knocking on Scott’s door and being greeted by the dark haired teenager.

“Hey, Isaac.” Scott grins, letting Isaac in. Isaac makes his way to the living room where his friends are sprawled around in various positions, and is dragged to the floor by Erica.

“I have a bet to make with you.” She announces as he wriggles into a more comfortable position (read: doesn’t lend opportunity for his cuts to re-open and bleed all over the place) on the floor, leaning back against the arm of the sofa.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“That you’re going to get higher than me on the chemistry final. Twenty dollars says I get a C and you get an A, my friend.” She holds out her hand. Isaac rolls his eyes but shakes anyway, and it’s worth it for the grin he receives.

“It’s on, man. Go get me a beer.” She keeps on grinning as he stands, asks anyone else if they need refills, and ends up heading to the kitchen with five beer requests.

He’s grabbing the drinks out of the vegetable crisper when Lydia approaches. He smiles at her, setting the bottles on the counter.

 

“Hey, Lyds.” He smiles.  
“Isaac. You look different.” She comments. She’s pouring drinks for herself and presumably Allison, and it’s clear she’s damn good at mixing cosmos, evidently.

“Good different or bad different?” He sighs.

“I haven’t decided yet. You look healthier, though.” She doesn’t look up, just stirring in cranberry juice into her glasses. “Less like you want the ground to swallow you up.”

He laughs nervously which catches her attention. She narrows her eyes, but continues. “Last time we were at a party you got smashed. Gonna happen again tonight, champ?”

“No sir.” He says, pointedly picking up his armful of beer bottles and an opener, winking at her as he leaves.

He hands out the bottles to everyone and reserves one for himself. They chat about life and their anxieties over results day and what will happen to Beacon Hill’s Senior Year Celebrity Couples and Isaac gets caught up in all the drama that isn’t, for a change, to do with his miserable life.

The thing is, his friends aren’t treating him differently. He respects this because he thinks he’d be damn miserable if they hovered around him like he was going to break if they looked at him funny or something.

Well, he is damn miserable, but at least that’s not to do with his friends.

So, he laughs and chats and lets the alcohol fill him with a buzz that leaves him with flushed cheeks and warm skin. He’s happy. He forgets about the cuts on his legs and his grades and just laughs.

Later, he finds himself being dragged up the stairs by Scott, who’s insisted that Isaac needs to see this thing he found on the computer. The others are too busy laughing over a rumour about Coach Finstock to notice.

 

Scott’s room is nice, and Isaac doesn’t think he’d expect anything else than the fairly minimalistic, neutral bedroom for the teenager. Scott softly clicks the door closed behind them, but Isaac doesn’t really notice, too engrossed in the stacks of veterinary medicine books that fill the shelves.

“So, what was that thing you wanted to show me?” Isaac says, spinning around but getting his words caught in his throat when he sees Scott standing so close to him.

Isaac registers warm hands on his arms, and then a gentle hand cupping his cheek, and then soft lips on his own.

Wow.

Ok, so this is happening.

It’s nice, he decides, and he feels his heart skip a little bit.

He then realises what’s happening, pulls away quickly, and Scott looks offended.

“I’m sorry-” Scott begins to stammer.

“No, no, Scott.” Isaac panics, resting his hands on Scott’s upper arms. “It’s not… not that it… not that I didn’t like it, because I did, it’s just-”

Scott’s got this sad-puppy look going on and Isaac feels like the worst person in the world, because he is. All that warm, wonderful, alcohol-induced haze has disappeared and he feels cold and empty.

“I don’t understand. Scott, I’m _awful_. Why would you want something like this?” His voice is broken, and he hunches in on himself as he speaks, taking his hands off of Scott. Scott just steps forward and takes his hands again.

“Isaac, please. I think you’re wonderful, and brave, and smart, and everything else. If you’re not cool with it, then I get it, but it’s not fair for you to be so hard on yourself, and not let yourself have anything you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

Isaac looks down until his chin is tilted up with gentle fingertips. “Nobody should have to deal with me. I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess. Look at you now compared to six months ago.” Scott points out.

Isaac bites his lip. “You don’t understand. I relapsed.” He whispers. He’s ashamed he admitted it. It’s a defence mechanism, because now Scott can understand how disgusting he is, and can get out of this now while he’s ahead.

Instead, Scott hugs him tight, and _damn_ does Scott give the best hugs, because that warm fuzzy glow is coming back and there’s tears in Isaac’s eyes.

“I’m still proud of you. Whatever happens.” Scott mumbles.

This makes Isaac cry harder.

Scott wipes away the tears and kisses him again. And again, and again, and again.

Isaac lets himself enjoy it.

 

They come back downstairs later, where they’re eyed up suspiciously but there’s no comment. Jackson puts on this new hipster movie and they all fall silent trying to understand the hidden meaning behind all of the deep quotes. Isaac is nearly asleep because Scott is carding fingers through his curls.

They all leave about one, but Isaac stays, and Scott loans him a pair of pyjamas (long sleeves and full length sweats, because Scott’s not stupid) and a spare toothbrush.

They share his bed and fall asleep with legs and arms entangled. Isaac thinks this has been the best night he has had in a long time.

Isaac wakes up to find that Scott’s made coffee for them both, and is in the middle of making eggs and bacon. Isaac needs a moment to process what happened yesterday, but then Scott is grinning over his shoulder and Isaac’s heart melts a little bit. They eat their breakfast together. Scott’s mom, who must have come in from a night shift at some point, enters the kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown. She jumps a little when she sees Isaac, because she didn’t know Scott had friends over.

“Hey, Isaac. How are you?” She asks, grabbing a mug of coffee and a slice of toast.

“I’m okay, how are you, Mrs McCall?” He replies politely, trying to pretend that he hasn’t slept in her son’s bed after he got kissed senseless by said son last night.

“I’m good, have to run some errands this morning, though. You boys getting your results today?”

They both nod, and she grins. “Good luck, then. Not that any of you need it, you’re all good kids.” She waves and takes her mug and toast back up to her room. Scott grins at Isaac, and plants a soft kiss on his cheek.

Isaac could get used to this.

 

They head up to the school on Scott’s motorbike. The results are being given out in the auditorium and are organised by last name, so Scott and Isaac find Danny and Lydia and they head over to the ‘ _K L M N O_ ’ table to grab their envelopes. Once they’re holding the brown envelopes in shaking hands, they meet up with the rest of their group outside the auditorium. They’re all there together, as well as Derek, who’s showed up for support.

Isaac trembles as he opens the letter. He scans the page for his grades.

He’s got nearly all A’s, albeit a B in maths and a C in French.

He’s so happy he feels numb.

He looks up at the others, who all seem to be awestruck as well.

“So?” Derek cuts the silence.

All at once, there’s ten voices shouting various things like “I passed chemistry!” “I got an A in Finstock’s class!” “I’m going to my first choice university!” and Isaac is so proud of his friends.

 

Later, they all discuss their results at Isaac’s work. They push three tables together and order milkshakes, which Isaac makes with Julie. Isaac hands over a ten to Erica, who compromised, as they both got A’s in chemistry, but he got three points more than she did.

He’s happy, he thinks, as he adds extra ice cream to Boyd’s milkshake. He’s never been this happy before in his life. He’d like to keep it this way.

 

 

He’s nineteen when he gets into one of the top universities in the area, on a scholarship, no less. He studies psychology and hopes to get a degree, so he can become a therapist and help people like him.

The best part is that Scott goes to the same university. He’s studying veterinary medicine, no surprise there. Scott rooms with Stiles and they live across the hall from Isaac. Isaac rooms with a guy named Cameron. The similarity to his brother is uncanny. They get along and Cameron works his way into their friendship circle in no time. Isaac isn’t ashamed of his scars anymore. He wears short sleeve t-shirts and sometimes when he’s really brave, he’ll wear shorts. They show his lowest moments to the world, but he doesn’t care. Let them stare. Sometimes he slips up and there’s new furious marks on his skin, but he gets up after he’s supressed the worst of it, pads across to Scott’s room and squishes into Scott’s single bed and cries it out onto Scott’s t-shirt. It does wonders.

When he’s back in Beacon Hills for the holidays (everyone is home visiting their families, so Isaac comes back to see everyone), he stays at Derek’s again. There’s a day in December when Derek go to visit his parents at the cemetery. Isaac tags along. Derek explains that Stiles doesn’t visit his mom until Christmas Eve, and that he and the sheriff take a bottle of Stiles’ mom’s favourite wine and they share a drink with her. Isaac nods, understanding the sentiment.

They get there, and Derek pats Isaac’s shoulder before he goes left towards where he knows the headstone for his family is. Isaac is lost for a moment, but he wanders to where he recalls standing for Camden’s memorial.

The headstone is white, but covered in ivy and old leaves. He brushes them away and reads the engraving.

He lets himself cry because he’s allowed to.  
“Hey, Cam. Sorry I took so long to get here.” He sniffles. Instead of standing awkwardly, he curls up with his legs pretzel-shaped in front of him. He plays with the worn, silver dog tags in his hand. “It’s been pretty difficult, but it’s getting better. I’m at university now. I kept my grades up, like you said. i’m going to be a therapist when I’m older. I want to help people.”

There’s a pause. He listens to the wind blowing through the trees above him and lets the tears fall onto his jeans.

“Dad messed me up pretty good, when you were gone. I never told you, because I didn’t want you to worry. Before you left, he found the freezer in the basement, and I… I used to get locked in that when I was bad. Told you I was sleeping over at someone else’s house or at a soccer camp or whatever. It was tough, Cam. I couldn’t deal with it. I tried to kill myself, maybe see you and mom again. I’m sorry. I know you’ll be disappointed. But I’m better now. My… my friends helped me. Got me out of it and gave me a place to live. Dad’s in jail. I’m… I don’t think I’m going to see him again. I don’t think I can ever forgive him, you know?”

He stops once more, picking at his fingernails as a woman walks past with a thick fur jacket on. When she’s far enough away, he carries on.

“I miss you, man. My roommate reminds me of you so much. It gets difficult because he’s not you and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that I get to wake up every day and walk around and go to class and go to work and live and breathe and laugh, but you don’t. You deserved so much better, Cam, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you. I’m going to try and be better though. For you, mostly, but also for me. I want you to be proud of me.”

He sighs, wipes away the tears on his face with the back of his hand. He stands and runs a hand over the cool marble of the headstone.

“I’m going to find out where mom is, as well. Go and visit her. I wish I knew more. But I’ll see you later. Miss you and love you.”

Isaac turns quickly, and heads back to the car park. Derek is waiting at the car with him. Isaac notes Derek’s puffy eyes and doesn’t comment because he knows his own look the same. Derek pats Isaac on the back, and they get home in silence. Stiles has been baking; making Isaac’s favourite cookies and presumably a batch of Derek’s favourite cakes as the elder man swipes a few and takes them up to his room. Isaac takes a Tupperware, as well as three cookies, and gets on his bike over to Scott’s house. He gives a cookie to Melissa, who just hugs him when she spots Isaac’s expression. Isaac spends the rest of the day in Scott’s room, reading or listening to music or just sitting with Scott’s arms around him.

 

 

Isaac is twenty two when he graduates. He’s got a job lined up as a junior psychiatrist at a local facility. It’s pretty neat. He and Scott are moving into a small flat just on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. They’ve paid the deposit and they’re due to move in just after graduation. Isaac is shaking when he collects his diploma. He thinks that his mother and Camden would be proud of him now.

It’s as they’re posing for graduation photos when Isaac realises. He stands in his robes, with his graduation cap firmly on his head (letting a few curls escape from the front), and with Scott’s fingers laced with his own. The sun is shining down on them, there’s a soft breeze and the whole place smells like freshly cut grass. Isaac grins genuinely as Melissa’s camera flash goes off.

 

He’s never been this happy before. He decides he likes it.


End file.
